Of These Chains
by Scarlett Barnes
Summary: Sometimes, it seems easier to run from the past. But other times, it takes a little convincing to realize that, with a little help, you can face it head-on. (One-shot. Complete.)
**A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fanfiction in the CA fandom, and I'm really excited to share it with you all. The lyrics at the beginning and end are from the song that inspired this fic, "Of These Chains" by Red. Please review and let me know what you think. Enjoy!**

* * *

Of These Chains

* * *

 _So here we are at the end now_

 _I need to leave but I only want to stay with you_

 _You never asked to be the one to set me free_

 _Another mask you wore that only I could see_

* * *

Some things came to him easier than others. His sister's laughter; the feel of a woman's lips against his; the pain of a vice around his head. Those were the easy ones. They floated through his memory in fragments, chopped into tiny pieces by years of torture at Hydra's hands. But the memories that eluded him the most were those that had to do with Steve.

It was like a veil had been drawn over them, obscuring the truth and making it fuzzy beyond recognition. Lately though, some of that haze was clearing... a little bit. The most recent memory was one from before the war. He thought it might have been the winter of '39. Was it... Christmas? He remembered lights and laughter and the smell of cookies. Steve was there with Bucky's family, smiling at the antics of his younger sisters. The memory fades after that, into darkness placed there by Hydra.

Most of the memories, they did their best to erase. But some of them... some they twisted and tainted into falsehoods. Those were difficult to pick out. He was getting better at it with practice. But sometimes those false memories made him second guess something Steve said or did for him. That was the hardest part: seeing the confusion on Steve's face and not being able to explain the way he was acting.

Bucky knew he sounded crazy to them sometimes. It was the way they'd all look, heads slightly cocked to the side and eyes searching when he didn't understand something they were talking about, or if something triggered an unpleasant memory in him. But he was trying; he was trying really hard to put the past where it belonged. It was just that he couldn't always control it sometimes. The Soldier was always there, waiting underneath the surface of his carefully crafted exterior for the slightest hint of danger. He'd had a few close calls in the past couple months, where the Soldier had almost taken control... _almost._

"Hey, Buck, you awake over there?" Steve's voice drew Bucky out of his thoughts. He blinked rapidly a few times and looked over at his friend's smiling face, admiring the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. _God, why does he have to look at me like that?_ Bucky pushed those thoughts away.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he muttered back with a less-than-convincing smile. Steve nodded once and then turned back to the huge TV everyone was currently gathered around. There was a football game on; the Pittsburgh Steelers and some other team he didn't know. He remembered liking football, but he and Steve had always been more interested in baseball. As the memories were coming back to him, slowly in the beginning, he was devastated when Steve told him the Dodgers were no longer in Brooklyn.

The team in orange scored a touchdown and Sam nearly catapulted out of the easy chair he was currently occupying. Clint slapped his leg in frustration, along with letting out some kind of wordless growl. Natasha just shook her head at the both of them. She tossed her bright, red hair over her shoulder and glanced back at Bucky where he sat on the very furthest edge of the couch away from everyone else. He noticed her looking out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't acknowledge her.

The others seemed to walk on eggshells around him, which he didn't love, but he didn't particularly mind either. He was content to not speak of his past and leave it all behind him. But Natasha, she was more straightforward than the rest of them. More than a few times, Steve had shot her a stony look as a warning to back off when she'd been talking to Bucky. He'd pretended not to notice.

It was different, having _Steve_ looking out for _him,_ instead of the other way around; the way it used to be. Sometimes it bothered him; something about it just felt... _wrong._ But most of the time, he didn't mind so much. It was easier than trying to awkwardly shift the conversation if someone got too close to sensitive subjects. Steve was a master at shifting the focus off of him.

More yelling brought him back to the present again. He seemed to be doing that more often lately. Drifting off into his thoughts for extended periods of time, until someone called his name or made a noise loud enough to draw his attention. The game was going into halftime, and Clint and Sam were migrating to the kitchen for more snacks. Nat collected herself up off the floor, using Steve's knee as something to balance herself on.

"Join me on the balcony for some fresh air?" she questioned playfully, her fingers lingering on his knee.

Steve looked reluctantly over at Bucky. He nodded once, adding a half-smile. "I'll be fine," he assured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. Steve returned the smile earnestly and got up off the couch, following Natasha's much smaller form through the sliding glass doors and onto the balcony of Steve's apartment. Whatever she wanted to talk to him about, she clearly didn't want Bucky knowing about it.

He watched them step out onto the small, concrete balcony; it didn't escape his notice how Natasha closed the sliding glass door firmly and flicked the lock. It also didn't escape his notice how she stood leaning up against the metal railing, half-turned towards the door. Seemingly casual, but still alert. It's what he would have done.

Her green eyes kept darting back in his direction, though never went so far as actually looking at him. The longer she spoke, the more tense Steve became. Bucky could almost feel his anger from in here. Steve's grip tightened on the metal railing, and Bucky could see it begin to warp under his strength. Whatever they were discussing, he knew it wasn't good.

A short cadence of blaring trumpets and pounding drums drew his attention back to the television. A graphic of red letters spelling out "ALERT" flashed across the screen and then faded to a dark-skinned woman in a blue suit sitting behind a desk, papers spread out before her.

"Good afternoon, I'm Anita Hopewell, and we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this Fox News Alert," the woman said with a serious tone and a furrowed brow. Bucky leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes at the screen. "This just in from the NYPD: according to an eyewitness report, the fugitive known as 'the Winter Soldier' has been spotted in an area of Upper Manhattan." Bucky's heart dropped into his stomach. A picture came on the screen. It was blurry, like someone had taken it from far away with one of those little mobile phones he still didn't understand. A man with collar-length dark hair stood on a balcony, a drink in one hand and the other hand resting on the railing. That other hand was unmistakably made out of metal. "This man is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Do not approach him. If you see this man, you are urged to contact the NYPD at 555..."

 _Shit._

Bucky didn't wait to see the rest of the story. He could guess all the awful things they would say about him. The worst part was, most of those things were true. He was bolting down the hallway in an instant, slipping through the door to his bedroom that was slightly open. Sam was calling his name from the kitchen, but he didn't respond. There wasn't any time to waste.

As fast as he could, he grabbed his black backpack from the small closet, opening it up and throwing it down on his modestly-sized bed. Steve had offered to get him a bigger one, but Bucky didn't see the need. He hardly slept anyways.

Bucky stood in front of the chest of drawers that housed his clothes, rifling through the drawers quickly and grabbing only a few items that he would need. A few pairs of underwear, socks, a couple shirts, and a pair of black pants. He could pick more up if he needed it. At the back of the drawer where he kept his socks and briefs was a little tab. He pulled on it, releasing the slat that concealed the hidden compartment. Inside was where he kept his cache of money and fake passports, just in case. Right now, he was glad he hadn't gotten rid of them, as Steve had urged him to do.

He put the passports and money in the small pouch sewn into the largest compartment of his backpack. Then, he reached under the nightstand to retrieve the Glock he always kept there. That, Steve had urged him to keep. Didn't need to tell him twice.

"Bucky." Steve's voice made him whirl around quickly, startled into raising his gun. "Whoa there, Buck. It's me," Steve said steadily, hands raised in a peaceful gesture. It took him a second to slow his breathing and shove the handgun into the waistband of his jeans. Without a word, he turned back to packing his bag. "What are you doing, Buck?"

"Leaving," he said shortly. The less he said, the better it would be... for the both of them.

"Is this because of that report?" he asked, and Bucky could hear the emotion coloring his voice. "Because if it is, we can—"

"Save it, Steve," he snapped, cutting him off quickly. Even though his back was turned, Bucky could feel Steve deflate. He'd probably been a little harsher than necessary; it didn't matter. This needed to be quick. "You know I don't want to do this on my own... but I have to." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. _It doesn't matter._ He kept repeating that phrase over and over; maybe, if he said it enough times, he'd start to believe it.

"Do you?" Steve's hand was resting on his shoulder, causing Bucky to still in his frantic attempt at packing. Slowly, he straightened and turned to face the man who had once been his best friend. After the incident in D.C., and Steve finding him after that and helping him with rehabilitation, he thought that maybe it could be that way again. He wasn't dumb enough to think that things would go back to the way they were before, but he wanted to try.

He had to.

It was never his intention to fall in love with Steve Rogers. As far as he could tell from the memories that hadn't been tampered with, he'd loved him before he'd become the Winter Soldier. Nothing had ever come out of though; the timing had never been right. And besides, he didn't even know if Steve felt the same way.

But when Steve had found him after he'd cut ties with Hydra, those old feelings had come back. That was one thing he didn't have any problem remembering. And now, here he was, standing two feet away from him staring at him with that same sympathetic look, wanting nothing more than to help him; nothing more than to save him. This time though, Bucky was determined to be the one doing the saving.

"I know you're just trying to help," Bucky growled deeply, his brow furrowing, "but there's nothing you can do this time, Steve. Hydra knows where I am; I've got to leave."

"Whatever Hydra has up their sleeve, we can face it together, Buck. You don't _have_ to do this on your own." Steve reached out a hand to place on his shoulder, but Bucky brushed it aside roughly. He saw the hurt in Steve's eyes, and it sent a pang through his chest. But there was nothing to be done.

"You don't get it, do you?" he practically hissed. "Hydra's aim is to recapture me and turn me back into their most prized asset. If they can't do that, then they'll kill me. There is no in between here. I know you don't wanna hear it, but it's the end of the line."

Something flashed across Steve's face, and a memory sparked in Bucky's mind. The same memory that had saved him from the Winter Soldier in the first place. ' _I'm with ya 'til the end of the line...'_ He'd said that, a long time ago.

"Buck," Steve whispered, taking a tentative step forward. It was in that moment, Bucky realized his hand was shaking. The flesh and blood one, not that metal monstrosity Hydra had saddled him with. He looked down at the thing that helped remind him he was human, not just some mindless robot for Hydra to control. His hand clenched into a fist, though it didn't do much to help stop the shaking.

Steve's muscular arms were encircling him before he knew what was happening, gathering his hunched frame into his chest. He was surprisingly warm, not at all like he remembered. Steve had one hand on his back, the other at the back of his neck. The hand on his back was stroking him gently. _Why is he doing that?_ Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, and he realized her shoulders were shaking now too. Salty wetness leaked out from his eyelids... _Goddammit, I'm crying. What the hell is wrong with me?_

He fell back from Steve's loose embrace, plopping on the end of the bed and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't hide the fact now, but there was no way he was gonna let Steve _see_ him cry. The floor creaked slightly as Steve knelt in front of him, one hand on his knee and the other trying to pull his flesh and blood hand away from his face.

"Hey," he said softly, "hey, Bucky look at me." Reluctantly, he lifted his face to look Steve in the eye. Steve's thumb traced across the top of his cheek, wiping the tears that lingered there. Tears welled in Steve's own eyes, but there was a slight smile on his full lips. "I get it," he continued, "really I do. You think can protect me by leaving. That somehow it'll be easier if you're on your own. But I'm not leaving you alone ever again... you hear me? The end of the line doesn't come til one or both of us is dead. So as long as I'm still alive, I'm with you. Got it?"

Bucky let his eyes roam over Steve's face for a moment; he knew he'd never loved Steve more than he did right now. He drew in a deep breath, and realized his hand had stopped shaking.

... _Fuck it._

It didn't feel the way he thought it would, kissing Steve. And it was better than he had dreamt it would be. To his surprise, Steve didn't pull away. His hand rested at the back of Bucky's neck, fingers tangled in his dark hair. The hand that still rested on his knee tightened and squeezed the longer they held the kiss. Bucky kept his eyes closed, fearing that if he opened them he'd find this was all some crazy dream that he'd imagined. But as Steve's mouth moved against his—god, his lips were so soft—he knew this wasn't just a dream.

Time seemed to stand still until they broke away, both breathing heavily. Steve leaned his forehead up against Bucky's, drawing in steady breaths to calm his racing heart. Bucky did the same, and they sat there in blissful silence for a few moments.

"You have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" Bucky breathed out with a bit of a chuckle.

"Lemme guess..." He could hear the smirk in Steve's voice, even if he couldn't see it. "About seventy years?"

"Yeah, I think so," Bucky replied. They pulled away from one another tentatively. A knot formed in his stomach as he stared at Steve's smiling face. _What the fuck am I supposed to say now?_ "I, uh..."

"Don't say anything," Steve cut him off, not unkindly, "not right now. We've got enough to worry about with Hydra coming after you. We'll deal with that first, then we'll figure out where we stand. 'Kay?" Bucky nodded in response, not trusting his voice to conceal the emotions roiling around in his head. "Come on, everyone's waiting." He started to stand, taking Bucky's hand in his own.

" _Everyone?_ " he asked, standing reluctantly.

"Yeah," Steve replied with a smile, "you didn't think they'd all split at the first sign of trouble, did you?" In all reality, he had. Why would they stay when Hydra would be on his tail soon? Steve noticed his hesitation and placed both hands on Bucky's shoulders. "We're in this together, Buck. _All_ of us. They're my friends, and they're here to help you too. 'Til the end of the line, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he said with a smile. And for the first time in what felt like forever, that wasn't a lie.

"Come on, let's go talk plans and strategy." Steve kept his grip on Bucky's hand as they left his room, leaving the remnants of his attempt at escape behind. Bucky stared down at where their hands were still clasped together. And he couldn't help feeling that this was the most natural thing in the world. Yeah, this was right...this was where he belonged. This was home.

* * *

 _Let me take you when I go_  
 _When I go_  
 _I don't want to do this on my own_  
 _On my own_  
 _I'm breaking free, but of these chains_  
 _Oh, let this one remain_  
 _Let me take you when I go_

* * *

 **Thank you all for reading; hope you enjoyed! Please review!**


End file.
